Last night I had this dream where I was pitting celebrity dogs against
each other in some kind of multi-level warehouse. As in many dreams, the
structure could be seen more like a diorama than a building with walls.

On the ground floor at first was Spuds MacKenzie, late 80s Budweiser
beer mascot and general party animal. However, I think my subconscious
mind thought this was too obvious, so Spuds quickly morphed into a
German Shepherd who I think was Seth Rogan's dog. On the top floor was
“Bits” from the movie The Good Girl starring Jennifer Aniston. Bits
would definitely be a d-list celebrity dog at best. Even those of you
who have seen the film might not remember her scenes, but they're worth
revisiting. Really under-rated. I was on the middle flight, one story
above Spuds/Rogandog and one below Bits, swinging a piece of pizza tied
to a string very slowly, like a pocket watch with an enormous chain. The
circumference of the pizza-cycle was equidistant from both hounds, and
coming at them in perfect separate directions but at varying speeds.

As you can imagine, they were barking and chasing it like life
depended on it, but in what felt like a thousand dream hours, neither
one got it. Instead, my dream shifted seamlessly to a gas station scene
where I was hanging out trying to help some fictional high school buddy I
never actually had. He was selling LSD out of the gas station where he
worked under the typical burnout master plan of having his customers ask
for it in code. You know, they come in and ask for some legit-sounding
item that stores may sell, but a more obscure one. With a little wink
and a quick exchange of cash, they trot out with the goods, the straight
world none-the-wiser. The problem with this particular burnout's take
on this time-honored plan was that he had a really shitty codeword. He'd
informed parts of the drug community to just come in and ask for “a hot
dog with everything” and they'd get some of the best acid the imaginary
town had to offer. Unfortunately he hadn't realized that a lot of
people might legitimately want hot dogs with everything. Everything
except LSD, that is. This back story was all pre-existing in my mind, and
I was looking at a slow-motion five second swath of screaming
businessmen and blissed-out kindergartners holding half eaten hot dogs,
tripping into the next lifetime. Seconds later I woke up and wrote this
all down here for you to read.